The Snow Falls Gently Here
by thestarktruth
Summary: Harry Potter decides to take a break from life in England, following the 2nd Wizarding War. What better place to go than a place where he can get lost? But has he lost something more important? He rents out a place to stay in New York. Enter Tony Stark and the gang... (All ships are canon; rated K for language; NOT TOO MUCH ANGST)
1. Chapter 1

***** the good ol' disclaimer: i do not own Disney and have no rights over their material. the law says i'm allowed to write fanfic, so that's what i do.*****

 **AN:** I don't want to turn this into an angst-filled teen drama. This a story of redemption and a search for peace. Friendships will be kindled and fortified. If you couldn't tell, this is an AU.

All my ships will be CANON. Make sure to leave feedback!

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **Harry P.** : Hullo, Pepper. I'm looking for an apartment to stay at in two weeks. December 12th to January 1st. Is yours still available?

 **Pepper P.** : Hi Harry. Yes, it is still open. Will you be traveling alone?

 **Harry P.** : Yes. How much for a night?

 **Pepper P.** : Well, you seem to be staying for a long time, so we're prepared to give it to you for $230 per night. I personally got to warn you, though. It's a small studio at the top floor.

 **Harry P.** : That's alright. Amenities?

 **Pepper P.** : Bathroom with toiletries, towels, laundry room is downstairs. Small kitchen with stove and sink. Microwave in closet. Couch folds out into a bed. Swimming center nearby.

 **Harry P.** : Sounds good, thank you. I'll check in at around 12:00 AM.

 **Pepper P.** : Great. When you arrive, please ask for Pepper.

* * *

His bag is packed with nothing but wrinkled clothes and his favourite novel. A pad of paper and a pencil are also stuffed into the side pocket. From Harry's memory, the pad is blank, having been bought on a whim at the London City Airport's stationary store.

The bacon and eggs he had that morning are a reminder of his new foreignness. America is a strange country. Harry Potter walks cautiously on the bustling New York street; he'd never been somewhere this busy. The people here are different than the Londoners he is used to. New Yorkers are brisk. Efficient. Scary. A bearded man in sunglasses had yelled at Harry when he bumped into him at the cafe: "Watch where you're going, kid," he had said. "Or you're going to get lost."

Harry consults his phone's GPS, hoping he is going the right way. The time is 11:20 AM - 40 minutes until check-in. According to the map, he is only five blocks away from his destination. Satisfied, Harry puts away his phone and continues moving.

The foggy New York storefronts are decorated with Santa Clauses and tacky gift boxes. Bright Christmas colours adorn the windows cheerfully. Harry watches the clouded window version of himself walking down the sidewalk. The young man reflected has a mouth turned down in concentration, a slight stubble covering his chin. Black hair kept a bit long on his head. Long purple scarf wrapped around his neck.

Harry keeps moving, looking down and refusing to make eye contact with any of the strangers shoving past him. He is part of the crowd. He is a fish swimming in the stream, with the current. And he likes it.

No one recognises him here, in this New York. No one points to the faded scar on his forehead. From what Harry can remember, people did that all the time in London.

Finally, Harry reaches the tall apartment indicated on his GPS. It is a dark red building with glossy windows and floors that seem to go on forever. As Harry observes, a group of children exit through the double doors, talking excitedly over lollipops staining their mouths purple. Pigeons peck rapidly at crumbs in front of a dark green bench.

Swallowing his insecurity, Harry clutches to his black backpack and walks through the doors. He is looking for a Pepper, he tells himself. Pepper Potts.

The blonde lady at the front desk smiles at him. "How can I help you, dear?" She asks, looking up from her computer. "I don't think I've seen you around here before. Are you lost?" Her smile appears almost patronising in Harry's opinion.

Harry clears his throat in what he thinks is a manful manner. "I'm looking for a Pepper Potts."

The desk phone rings suddenly, and the lady picks it up quickly, losing attention in Harry immediately. Harry takes it as a signal to seat himself in the lobby. He clamps his hands around the squishy seat foam, suddenly nervous. He watches the rush of people exiting and entering the otherwise quiet room. He can hear the lady whispering animatedly, running her fingers through her shiny hair.

"Harry Potter?" Harry turns his head sharply and spies a man standing aways at the front doors. Making eye contact with Harry, the man waves one large hand in the air, the other shoved casually in his jean pocket.

Grabbing his backpack, Harry jogs with long legs to the man, nodding coldly at the receptionist as he passes her. "Yes, I'm Harry Potter," he says carefully. "Who are you?"

The man tilts his head as if assessing him and smirks arrogantly. "Name's Tony. The Miss Potts sent me." He pauses. "You're a lot younger than I thought you would be. Your family got a lot of money or something?"

Harry folds his arms across his thin chest. "I just need a place to stay. I'm legally an adult."

The man shrugs his shoulders. "Guess you're right. Follow me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tony gestures at the elevator. "After you," he says.

Harry shoulders his backpack and walks into the small closet-like elevator box. Tony strides in after him, impatiently pressing the elevator button for the 16th floor.

After a few seconds, Tony turns and stares at Harry. "So," he squawks. "You normally this quiet, kid?"

Harry stares back through his glasses. "No."

"I see." Harry spends the rest of the elevator ride refusing eye contact, while Tony hums a light tune watching Harry with amusement.

When the elevator finally reaches the top floor, Tony steps out lightly before Harry. "Watch your step, Harry," he says, putting out a hand. Harry ignores it and hops out.

Tony smirks. "Nice scarf." He is ignored once more. Unsatisfied, Tony begins to lead Harry down the hall. "What do you like to do in your free time, Harry? Stare at blank walls?"

"No."

"No?" Tony takes out a silver key and inserts it into the freshly painted apartment door. "Then tell me, my good man. What do you do?"

"Read," Harry responds, inspecting his cuticles with immense interest. "I like to read."

"Have you read All The Light We Cannot See yet? Anthony Doerr?" Tony shoves open the door. But Harry is struck by the seriousness of the question. Was Tony teasing him? Or was he actually recommending a book?

"No, I haven't," is Harry's decided reply. He carefully glances at Tony, then pushes past him into the apartment.

Inside is, just as described, a little kitchen shoved into the corner of a small room filled with lush green plants. A large bonsai in a blue pot obscures Harry's view of the bathroom door.

A large striped couch sits in the other corner of the room, lined up next to the grey wall and a small shrub. It is perfectly intact, with a fuzzy blanket and two purple pillows.

Light streams in from a window next to the kitchen. Under it stands a wooden table, complete with two wooden chairs.

"This used to be Pepper's hide-out," Tony explains. He scratches his head. "She likes plants." He watches Harry for a while, then continues. "So, you like it?"

Harry drops his backpack onto the ground. "I'll take it."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Cedarwings brought up some very good points about my first chapter. Thanks so much for your thorough and thoughtful review! I appreciate that you took the time to write all your comments out. I had originally written the first portion (Harry's online conversation with Pepper) a week before the second, so there were a few date discrepancies. (Yes, now I realise that Christmas is NOT in July... haha). Cedarwings, thanks again for pointing that out to me.

To Imaginative Fury, who decided that my chapters were too short - maybe it's because I'm not compensating for something... (LMAO. Take it lightly, buddy. You started it.) Happy with this 1,468 words chapter? Additionally, no, I did not plan on including Ginny or that canon "piece of shit" in this story.

Also, if you're wondering why Tony and Pepper are running an Airbnb type apartment rental, you'll find out in a few chapters or so. Onward!

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Harry wakes up sweating. His green eyes fly open, awakened by the thick silence of his dreams. As his nightmares begin to fade away with the night, Harry can feel the sticky heat of his body pressed against the furry blanket.

From outside, a bird chirping.

Harry has a vague memory of a similar bird that hooted at him once. It makes him sad. Why would it make him sad? Why would a singing bird make him sad? Harry feels frustrated. Irritated. Irate. Angry. This isn't the way it's supposed to be, he thinks to himself. There used to be something more.

The thin winter morning light brightens the small apartment room slowly but surely, glinting off the glass of water placed carelessly on the kitchen table. His long purple scarf is draped comfortably on top of the bonsai tree. Harry grabs his gold-rimmed glasses from the carpeted floor and walks barefoot into the bathroom.

He had not looked into the bathroom since his arrival yesterday afternoon. The bathroom is small but efficient, much like everything else in the apartment. Its walls are whitewashed and decorated with a painting of a dove-grey house on a cliff.

Two toothbrushes, a tube of toothpaste, and a potted dark blue succulent are lined up under the sink mirror. A little note is placed next to them. Harry picks it up and reads:

 _Hi Harry, I hope that you find everything well. Hope Tony played nice... There is a convenience store at the corner of this block that has a lot of supplies. Call 917-476-6626 if you need anything._

 _Best, Pepper._

There is a little smiley face drawn with a blue sparkly gel pen that follows.

Harry grins. New Yorkers really are different than Londoners, he thinks to himself. Although, his friends were more...

He studies his appearance in the mirror critically. The pink scar on his forehead is now almost invisible. A second scar lies under his chin, although that, too, is now nearly gone. Not bad, Harry thinks to himself, appraisingly. On the other hand, he would have to do something with his longish hair - perhaps he could find a barber on the way to the convenience store. With that consoling thought, he brushes his teeth, leaving the toothpaste cap lying forlornly on the counter. Harry then exits the bathroom.

In the kitchen, Harry finds a selection of colourful fruit juices, as well as a long loaf of Dutch bread. He tears off a chunk and swallows the fluffy morsel, furrowing his brow in concentration. "Alright," he thinks aloud. "Convenience store. Then barber."

He quickly changes out of his striped pyjamas and into a t-shirt and jeans, then tosses all his clothes out of his backpack and onto the kitchen table. "That's for when I get back," he says to no one in particular. Swigging water from his glass, he swings his backpack and his light-weight jacket over his shoulder.

"Bye apartment," he says, pausing at the door. "I'll be back soon."

* * *

Harry strolls down the cold sidewalk, wishing he had brought his scarf. Men and women walk briskly past and alongside him, adding to the noise and chaos of New York.

A chubby cat sniffs at his passing feet and makes up its mind to follow Harry, weaving around pedestrians to keep up. "Git," Harry says to it half-heartedly. "I can't feed you." The straggly-haired beast sniffs at him in reply.

Picking up his heels, Harry tries to outpace the cat to no avail. For a fat cat, it is surprisingly fast. Sighing in exasperation, Harry stops in front of a store to rummage around in his backpack. He wishes he had some tuna to give it, but he doesn't. The cat stops next to Harry and brushes its tail against his legs, leaving traces of fur.

Harry reaches down and scratches its head, receiving a fresh wave of nostalgia. It isn't like cats are uncommon, he chastises himself. "I'll buy you some tuna at the convenience store," Harry mutters, amused.

The convenience store... Harry spies it a few feet away from him, grimy windows, light-up sign, and all. Giving the cat a final pat on the back, he walks apprehensively into the store.

Immediately, Harry is hit by different smells, some of them nice, some of them not. A hobo sits by the entrance - not so good smell. The pot of stew cooking in the cafe section - good smell. A pile of apples stacked on an open shelf - good smell! Harry strides over to the apples, picking one up and sniffing it slowly.

"You gonna buy that, kid?" An old woman in a blue apron stands watching Harry from behind the cafe counter.

Startled, Harry drops the apple. "Dumble-" he begins to cuss, then stops. Dumble-? What was Dumble- and why was it in his vocabulary? How did the word end again?

The old woman narrows her eyes suspiciously. "You alright, kid?" Harry silently curses the gods who created his youthful appearance - he's nineteen and a half for crying out loud! Not a kid! Not a kid.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replies quickly. "I'm buying this, too." He turns and grabs another red apple, then begins to walk away. "Er, actually," he begins, looking at the woman. "Do you happen to carry tuna here?"

The woman smiles. "Sure kid," she says. "Aisle 12. It's brick down that aisle, though, just warnin' ya." This was another thing about New Yorkers. They had odd slang that made no sense.

Not wanting to seem out of place, Harry nods and smiles back. "Thank you."

"Say, that's a funny looking scar on your forehead. Where'd ya get it?"

"London." He hears the woman chuckle as he walks down Aisle 12.

Harry finds some tuna with little effort and lines up at the cashier line, impatiently holding his two apples in one folded arm. Unfortunately, the brown-haired man in front of him seems to be talking up a storm with the cashier.

"Is this your new job, then?" The man asks the young woman.

She grins, moving her long dark hair out of her face. "Yes," she replies in a stunted accent. "I rather like the privacy of it," she adds, pointedly. "No one I know comes here."

"Except for me, now," the man says, laughing. "Whoops. It'll be our secret though. I promise I won't tell."

"Thank you," the woman replies. She bites her red-painted thumbnail awkwardly. "I didn't want to take Tony's money. I want to pull my own weight."

"Understandable," the man responds. "See you later." He grabs his purchase and strides out the automatic doors.

Harry moves up so that he is face to face with the cashier, and places his items on the counter.

"Hello," she exclaims cheerfully. "How has your day been so far?"

"Fine," Harry says. "You?"

"Yes, it's good." She rings up his purchases, her thin fingers flying over the keypad. Harry stares at the woman's nametag. It reads 'Wanda Maximoff'. Scandinavian, he thinks. Or Russian? Damn his non-existent cultural education. He can't remember anything from geography class - that is, if he did take geography in the first place. Funnily enough, he can't remember where he went to school, either.

"Er," he clears his throat. "I don't need a bag." The woman nods and hands him his purchases.

Harry leaves the line and stuffs his things into his black backpack. He pauses and glances back at the cashier, who happens to be looking at him just then. She blinks, then waves a gold-ringed hand with slight hesitation.

Harry waves back, a slowly spreading grin on his face.

* * *

 **AN:** You may have noticed something imperative to this storyline - the fact that Harry seems to have suffered a memory loss. This is intentional. Have you also noticed that not once does he use magic in the first two chapters? Go back and reread them if you didn't!


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** Just curious, but if you believe that my chapters are a bit too short, please let me know! Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

"Harry," The young woman is looking down at Harry from an elevated stage. "I must say, your performance this quarter has been astounding, my friend." Her insanely curly hair dances as she begins to walk across the platform to reach Harry. "Congratulations Ha-"

"-rry Potter, sir."

Harry's eyes open to a bright light in his face. "Whaa-" comes his feeble reply. Squinting to make out the unfamiliar face behind the light, Harry allows his previous dream to fade away from his muddled head.

Harry tries again. "Whudduhyouwan?"

"Come again?" The bright light moves away from his face, illuminating the small apartment room with long shadows. A woman with a thin mouth and a worn-down baseball cap holds it up. Her accent is unmistakable; she is a New Yorker, through and through. "Ahem," she says. "The name's Ashley Sharpe. I'm from-"-here she whispers-"-MACUSA."

"Muh-cou-suh?" Harry struggles to get up from his bed. "How did you - how did you get in?" Sharpe glances at his bare chest and tosses him a shirt.

"Don't pretend like we don't both know the answer to _that_ question," she says, rolling her eyes. "And yeah," she continues, nonchalantly rubbing her large nose. "I've been appointed to escort you to our headquarters, upon which you're to be detained." She quickly adds, "for questioning," after seeing Harry's look of incredulity.

"I haven't done anything," Harry says, furrowing his dark brow. "I don't even know what medusa is, or whatever the bloody hell you're talking about."

Sharpe leans in and raises her eyebrows. "We're the American version of the M.O.M, Potter. You're in _our_ territory now." She looks at him with expectance, head cocked, but all the new vocab and acronyms are just making Harry's already sleepy head spin.

"M.O.M?"

The woman named Sharpe begins to look a bit worried. "You are Mr. Harry Potter, are you not? Auror-in-training?"

"What the bloody hell is an auror?!" Sharpe recoils in near disgust at the outburst. Harry then remembers that he has the right to PRIVACY, goddammit. "I'll call the police on you if you don't get out of my apartment room this instant!"

Sharpe backs away, her light gripped between her fingers. Harry scrunches his eyes up and sees a thin flashlight made of what he believes is wood. Of course, without his glasses, which are lying under the bed, he can't really trust his eyesight.

"Uh, c-c-c-all? You mean, you're just a no-mag?" Sharpe stammers. She swallows. Her face is now a mask of uncertain contempt. "Dammit," she mutters. "Screwed up my first official mission."

"No maje or not," Harry retorts, "You definitely don't belong here. In MY apartment." He reaches for the phone lying on the floor, carefully watching Ashley Sharpe, who has now bumped her hip into a potted shrub. The woman continues walking backwards, one hand groping for the window behind her. She throws it open, then jumps out.

"Holy-"

* * *

"-shit!" Tony exclaims, staring at Harry. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Harry replies with measured reproach. "I thought you said the apartment was break-in-proof." He watches as Tony Stark sits himself down with a plop and an 'oof' on the apartment lobby couch. Tony presses his hands flat together and props his chin on top of them, Sherlock-style.

Tony continues, glancing up at the ceiling now. "It is." He mumbles something under his breath, then shakes his head. "I had that checked out by a couple guys I know around five months ago. I wanted Pepper to be safe up there, you know?" Harry nods, awkwardly standing next to Tony's preferred couch. "Don't tell her that though," Tony adds hastily.

Tony beckons to Harry. "Sit." Harry sits.

"So you're saying, last night, a woman woke you up and said she was from a place called 'Medusa'?"

"Yes, and, er, she jumped out the window."

Tony whistles. "No one else said anything when I came by this morning, after I got your text."

"You're acting surprisingly calmer than I expected."

"Yeah, well, I've dealt with a lot of these types of things."

"Is that so? You're used to women jumping out windows and not dying? Just disappearing into mid-air?"

Tony smirks. "Super-humans are my area of expertise, Harry boy. Leave it to me. For now, do you still want to stay in the apartment room? If not, I can hook you up with a friend of mine."

Act manfully, Harry tells himself. "No, it's alright."

"You sure? That must have been a real shock. Especially on your second night in good ol' New York."

Long pause. Tony's eyebrow quirked.

"...Tell me more about your friend."

"Tough looking guy with a heart of butter," Tony says, grinning. "His name's Steve, although we like to call him Capsicle. Inside joke. Actually, only I call him that. Still. Nice loving man with arms of steel."

"And... he's willing to take me in?"

"Well, sure," says the Stark. "I only had to mention that you were, one, starving; two, small; three, homeless; four, in need of a haircut; and he was like BOOM, I'm taking him."

"I am NOT starving!" Harry exclaims. "Nor am I small!"

Tony pats Harry's back in a comforting fashion. "No, no, of course you're not small, Harry. Steve's just like that." He considers his next sentence, then says it after hearing Harry's stomach give off a loud growl. "But yeah, you're starving."

Harry pretends not to have heard the latter. "Look, it's not that I'm afraid of the apartment being broken-into again, it's just, I don't feel as safe as I should be."

"Yeah, yeah, that's understandable. I can relate. Remind me to tell you about this one time in Sokovia."

"Right." Harry clears his throat. "Could I meet Steve before considering, though?"

"Sure," Tony nods. "Shall we grab brunch at his place? You can check it out, then make up your mind."

"Let me grab a few things."


End file.
